‘That’s correct.’ He wrung his hands.
‘And that you believe that Amy was meant to be in your ex-wife’s care today?’
‘Again correct.’ He cleared his throat, started pacing. ‘I’m not sure I get what’s going on here.’ The blue vein on the side of his neck was pulsating. He looked at me. ‘What’s going on, Sophie? If anything’s happened to her …’ He tightened and released his fists like he was readying himself for a fight. ‘I shouldn’t have let her go. You’ve been acting strangely lately and my gut instinct said it was wrong. But I didn’t listen, did I? I didn’t think to myself: Sophie is just not well enough to look after our daughter with,’ he looked at me, ‘your drink problems, the delusions, the OCD.’ He slammed his fist on the wall. ‘No, and now our daughter is missing.’
‘Do you see what he’s doing?’ I asked.
DI Ward flicked her ballpoint open and closed. I wished she would’ve done it twice more, just to be sure that no harm was going to come to Amy.
She looked at us in turn. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘He’s having you believe I’m unable to look after Amy.’ I started picking at the skin around my fingers. ‘Like I’m mad.’ I paused and looked at Paul. ‘Isn’t that right, Paul? Is this all for the court’s benefit? Because all that’s going to happen is, you’re going to be arrested for hiding away your daughter!’ Even as I said it though, I realised how irrational I sounded. Why would Amy’s own father put her in danger? It made no sense. My eyes prickled with exhaustion.
‘I have no flaming idea what you’re going on about, woman! But yes, in my opinion, you are mad. Though I didn’t have to do anything to convince the detective here!’ He was up now, circling the room. Unexpectedly, he jabbed his finger in DI Ward’s face. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? You didn’t need any convincing?’
I had never seen him like this: quite so wired, quite so panicky. Or maybe I didn’t know Paul as well as I thought.
‘Do you mind?’ DI Ward looked at him and he placed his hand by his side. ‘Ms Fraiser, do you know where Amy might be?’ She glanced at me; because even she must have realised how ridiculous that sounded. Though, it didn’t stop me from wishing I could get my diary out and check I hadn’t delivered her at a friend’s house. Hadn’t Elsie from school wanted to go to the pool one Saturday? My diary was just inside my bag, if I could just get it out and check. But I couldn’t because I needed to look like I was sure, be convincing, even though now I wondered if I really had forgotten what I had done today.
‘No, I don’t know where she is.’ It was honest.
‘Are you sure you didn’t arrange for her to go to a friend’s house or perhaps she went out and returned to your house in Richmond?’
‘Why wouldn’t I remember something like that?’ I said, affecting total disbelief.
‘I tried a few numbers whilst you were outside, Detective,’ Paul interrupted. ‘No one’s seen her.’ A moment’s silence before he spoke again. ‘Are you sure she’s not at Frannie’s house? I couldn’t get through to her parents.’
‘Paul,’ I warned, ‘you know she’s not at Frannie’s house.’ Frannie? Panic rose in my throat: why had I thought her name was Elsie? Then I had the sickening realisation that Elsie had been my best friend at school. Amy had wanted to go swimming with Frannie, her best friend. I momentarily wondered what other fragments of my past my mind could weave into the present day.
I clamped my hands together. ‘He is lying. I left my house this morning to meet Paul and Amy at the fairground. We were all there. At the fairground.’ It felt as if the walls were closing in on me.
‘OK. Let’s just wait for DCS Fields. He’ll be here shortly,’ DI Ward said, sitting back in the sofa. I nodded and stared ahead, continuing to peel the skin around my nails, counted the bricks around the fireplace. A photo of Paul holding a newborn Amy sat in view. I don’t remember ever having one taken of Amy and myself. I suddenly realised that there was no evidence that I was Amy’s mother: no photos of us together, no drawings we had coloured in, nothing. Paul left the room. I could hear him pacing in the kitchen, muttering under his breath.
After a few minutes, the doorbell rang and the DI Ward let out an audible sigh of relief. Paul rushed down the hall to the door and showed DCS Fields into the living room. The detectives exchanged fleeting glances. He was an overweight stern-looking man. But I knew that he had authority. Maybe he was enough to get Paul to admit he was lying. The Detective Chief Superintendent smiled at his expectant audience. Paul and I looked at him like children eager for the magician to pull the rabbit out of the hat. DCS Fields rubbed his hands over his eyes and fished around in his front pocket for his spectacles.
‘Mr Mitchell, Ms Fraiser,’ DI Ward addressed us.
Paul sat on the edge of the sofa as if ready to pounce. I couldn’t read his body language at all: one minute he was furious, the next, he appeared fidgety and anxious.
‘One of you needs to tell me the truth,’ DI Ward continued smoothly. ‘Am I going to have to haul you both in for questioning?’
I looked back at the photo. ‘I don’t know where Amy is.’
‘She has Amy, or she did have as of this morning,’ Paul said, his eyes not leaving mine. ‘You do know she’s an alcoholic? That she attends AA?’
‘That’s probably not relevant, Paul,’ DI Ward replied slowly.
‘Did you ask if she’s been drinking today?’ He focused on DI Ward now.
‘I haven’t!’ I sat bolt upright and massaged my neck with my hand. ‘I haven’t had a drink. You have to believe me.’
I started to cry, at first only a few tears until it grew and I was sobbing, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. A moan escaped my lips and was unlike any sound I’ve heard before. Its rawness shocked me. ‘What are you doing, Paul? Where’s our daughter? If you harm her, I swear to god, I’ll …’ I wiped my nose on the back of my jumper. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to but I never knew you could sink this low. If this is for the courts, then you wait till they find out Amy’s own father was willing to put her at risk.’
He flinched and for the first time today I felt I had hit on a truth.
The detectives stepped out of the room and Paul just stared at me. He kept clearing his throat but, otherwise, didn’t speak.
‘Where’s Amy, Paul?’
He ignored me.
For a while, I sat in numb silence before standing up slowly and walking over to the ottoman by the window. I sat down again.
He watched me until I couldn’t take it any more and I looked out the window at the fading light. I leant my forehead against the cool glass, weeping. Once I had started to cry, I couldn’t stop but, honestly, I didn’t really try. The tears gave me some sort of release. I felt powerless: all I wanted was to hold Amy in my arms, tell her it was all going to be OK. It was as though someone was wringing my heart, the pain piercing my chest. Often it was said that the loss or death of a child was the same as losing a limb. But it was more than that: it was as if your soul started to die, your reason for being had been wrenched from under your feet. Amy was my world, the glue that kept my world together. Without her, I was afraid I might break.
The room was small with no window. A starchy white emulsion covered the walls and the radiator in the corner remained firmly off. I shivered and rubbed my arms in the hope of generating some heat. DI Ward offered me a cup of tea.
‘Sugar?’